I'm Ready to Play, Today
by princessxleah
Summary: Extended baseball scene from 6x03, followed by Cristina going to Owen's apartment for the first time. Cristina hitting it in more ways than one , Mark not hitting it, nicknames for Owen, and dirty baseball talk ahead.


The allure of baseball had always been lost on Cristina. She never could understand the way people went crazy over a bunch of guys standing around looking bored until someone hit the little white ball with a wooden stick. She hadn't understood Burke's need to hear the score on the radio before turning off the car or Owen's waiting "five more minutes" to see the end of the quarter or period or whatever it was on television before turning it off and following her into the bedroom.

She kind of got it now, though. The excited shock as the bat connected with the ball, the way the ball soared over the field and out of view...yeah, it was kind of fun. And it didn't hurt that she happened to have a gift for knocking them out of the park. Way better than Mark and Lexipedia, for sure, though that didn't take a whole lot of skill.

"Nice!" Derek called out as Cristina sent another ball flying high out over the fence. "Yang's kicking your ass, Mark."

"The machine's not working right." Mark groused, taking another pull from his bottle of beer. "Hunt over there is rigging it for his girlfriend."

"You wish, pretty boy." Cristina swung the bat experimentally a couple of times, practicing for the next ball. "The beauty of this game is that I don't need to put in any extra effort to try to beat you."

"Yeah, how many strikeouts out of the last three at-bats were there for Sloan here?" Owen asked Derek, a smirk on his face.

"I believe Mark had the grand total of…" Derek's recitation and his impish grin were interrupted by an annoyed Mark.

"You know what, numbers aren't important." With a final swig of his beer, Mark set down his bottle and made his way over to the machine where Owen was. "Give it to me."

"Suit yourself." Owen shrugged as he went back over behind home plate, opening a fresh bottle of beer for himself. "Somehow I don't think that will make any difference." He winked at Cristina. "I think she may just be a better baseball player than you, Mark."

"Damn right." Cristina muttered, eyeing the pitching machine. An indignant Mark sent the next ball out, and with a fierce swing, the bat once again connected with the ball and sent it hard and low to left field, the perfect arc for a would-be home run. Cristina shot Mark a smug look as she walked away from home plate, accepting cheers from Meredith and Lexie, applause from Derek, and a fresh beer and a high five from a grinning Owen, where he held onto her hand a second longer than necessary and gave it a gentle squeeze. She handed the bat to Lexie, opening her beer with an air of satisfaction. She hadn't wanted to be a part of this or to leave the hospital, but now that she was here, and beating the pants off of Mark, it was kind of nice to take her mind off of everything.

"It would have been foul," Mark protested, breaking her train of thought, and it was with ill grace that he prepared to pitch to his girlfriend.

Owen scoffed, draining half of his beer in one gulp. "It would have been fair."

"Yeah, it would have." Cristina agreed, earning a chuckle from Owen and a roll of the eyes from Mark. Her baseball knowledge wasn't exactly…well. She didn't know much about the rules of the game, but she was fairly sure that Owen's way meant that she had a home run, which even she knew was the point of this game.

"Half of them would have been F-7s," asserted Mark. "We should only count the ones that would actually be considered a run."

"How is that going to help you when you haven't been able to hit the ball in the last three at bats?" pointed out an amused Owen.

"What's an F-7?" Meredith had only been up to bat a couple of times and had struck out miserably, so now she was sitting on the grass, watching the impromptu competition between Mark and Cristina and laughing at the back-and-forth with everyone.

"Don't ask me. I watch basketball." Derek was tossing a stray baseball up in the air from his position at home plate. "Ask Yogi and Phil over there."

"What are you talking about, basketball? The only sport you've ever watched is golf. And that's being generous," snarked Mark, ignoring Derek's scowl.

"Who are Yogi and Phil?" Lexie wasn't really following the conversation, but taking practice swings while Mark argued his case.

"An F-7 is a fly out to the player in left field." Owen explained to Meredith. "Scoring terminology." He inclined his head towards Cristina. "It doesn't apply in this case though. It would have been a home run."

"What's the terminology for that?" Cristina smirked innocently in Mark's direction. "And what would it be for Mark's stunning performance?"

"HR is for home run. For Mark it would be K." At the confused looks from Cristina, Owen, and Derek, Owen clarified. "Strikeout."

"Thank you, Bob Sheppard," grumbled Mark.

"He was a public address announcer, not a play-by-play…"

"No one likes a show-off, Hunt. Lexie, get ready." Mark abruptly ended the conversation and prepared to work the machine. With a press of the button the ball shot out and Lexie swung, missed and the ball ended up hitting her shin.

"Ouch!" Lexie hopped on one foot in pain. "Mark!" Derek helped her over to the bench where Meredith was. "I wasn't the one that insulted your lack of baseball skills!"

"What? It's a machine! I didn't actually pitch to you!" Mark sauntered off of the field, his hands thrown up in the air as if to defend himself.

"Somehow I think this game is over," muttered Derek, while Mark and Lexie sniped at each other.

"Yeah, we better leave them to their father-daughter talk." Cristina, unconcerned, took another swig of beer before she was aware that Meredith, Derek, and Owen were staring at her. "Oh, come on, you were all thinking it. I'm just the one who said it."

Meredith shook her head at her friend before deciding not to get into that particular topic just then and turned to Derek. "You're driving, Derek. I think I had too much beer."

"Okay." Derek took off his mitt and picked up the baseballs that were near home plate, tossing them into the duffel bag Owen had brought. "You guys need a ride?"

Cristina glanced at Owen. "You good?"

"Yeah. You guys go ahead." Owen nodded at them. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye." Meredith smiled at the two of them before turning to leave with Derek. "Don't let her go back to the hospital," she called to Owen. "If I'm not going back, she can't either."

Owen acknowledged her with a wave of his hand and a smile while Cristina shot Meredith a dirty look and muttered to her retreating back.

"'Don't let her go back'…She's not the boss of me. And you're not the boss of me…Attending or not," she interrupted, as Owen opened his mouth to say something. He grinned at her.

"I'll drive you back to the hospital if you want me to." He took the batting helmet off of her head and brushed loose strands of hair away from her face. "But if you want to go home and get some sleep, we can do that too."

Cristina wrinkled her nose. She wanted to go back to the hospital, no, needed to go back to the hospital. A lot of time she could have spent trying to get into surgery and working on a case had been wasted while they had been playing. But now she had a significant buzz from all the beer she had consumed and she could feel the fatigue she had ignored for hours start to settle in, and no matter how much she wanted to work, she was probably better off waiting until her shift the following morning. Sighing, she looked up at Owen.

"Home. I guess." Cristina mumbled. "But I'm going in early tomorrow," she said emphatically. "No more baseball detours."

"Deal." Owen gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "I'll just go get the rest of the baseballs and give Mark the machine back before we go."

"Okay." She watched him run to the outfield with the duffel bag, collecting the stray balls they…well, she had hit out into the field. Cristina absently picked up the bat and swung a couple of times, touching the bat to the ground to balance herself out. She practiced while Owen brought the bag and machine in. He left the bag there while he took the machine to Mark, who had come back from walking Lexie to the car to retrieve it.

"I'll get you next time, Yang," Mark called as he walked back to the car, holding his pitching machine.

"Keep dreaming, Sloan." Cristina called back, stepping forward to practice another swing.

"You have a good swing," noted Owen, walking up to the side of her. "You ever play?"

Cristina snorted. "No." She balanced herself again, preparing for another try. "I did ballet. Rode horses." She swung the bat again.

"Just make sure you follow through," Owen suggested, eyeing her stance. "The ball goes farther that way."

"I'm guessing you played at one point?" She took another swing as he moved in closer to her. She didn't know much about his past, aside from the fact that he grew up in Seattle and where he went to school. He didn't offer much information and she didn't ask, one of the 'issues' they were supposed to be working through, according to Owen's shrink.

"From the time I was a kid through high school." Cristina could feel his smile as he approached her from behind. "My dad was really into baseball. He got me into it." He stood behind her, placing his hands on the bat along with hers. "You want to…" He maneuvered the bat to the right, and they swung the bat together, extending the swing a bit longer than Cristina had been doing. "That way when the ball connects, the arc is better and goes further." He settled his hand on her hip briefly, turning her slightly to demonstrate further. "Hips before hands, stride forward, and turn."

Cristina smiled a little as his warm and familiar body pressed into hers and adjusted himself to her small frame, wrapping his arms around her. She concentrated as they took another swing together, him showing her how to swing the bat fully, in a complete arc. Owen was obviously comfortable at the plate, his swing confident and his stance steady. He took a ball from the bag at their feet and tossed it up in the air, and together they smashed it far out into the field.

The next one he tossed Cristina took solo, and she sent it in a clean arc into center field. She grinned, that unexpected rush taking over once again.

"Nice." Owen said; the grin she wore mirrored on his own face. "That's a home run, no matter what Mark says."

"Better than a K, right?" She offered him the bat so he could hit a few.

He chuckled, tossing the ball up in the air and holding still as the ball fell too low to hit. "Right." Owen picked up the ball to throw it again.

"So what was that?" Cristina asked. "Another strikeout?"

"BB." Owen threw the ball again and once more the ball fell too low. "Base on balls."

Cristina couldn't help snickering like a twelve-year old. "Seriously?"

"You and your dirty mind…" Owen sent the ball in the air once more and this time he connected, sending the ball clean to right field.

"That's not me being dirty. Baseball is just a dirty sport. First, second and third base, home runs, base on balls…" Her eyes slid to his ass, the jeans clinging tight to the perfect glutes as he bent over to pick up another baseball. "You know, I think I'm ready to go home now…"

He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye as he tossed the bat into the duffel bag. "You forgot sliding into home, extra innings, fielder's choice, putting out…" His voice was teasing but a touch lower than it was a moment ago. "I clearly have a lot to teach you about this game."

"Come home and show me then." She pressed her hips into his before wrapping her arms around his waist. "See, hips before hands. I'm a fast learner."

Owen slung the bag containing the baseballs, mitt, and bat over his shoulder and snaked his arm around her as they walked to his truck. "You do have a natural talent…" His hand slid down her back.

"I do." Cristina smiled against his chest before he opened up the door of his truck for her. She hopped up and he put the bag in the back, closing the door afterwards. As they started driving, Cristina teasingly placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing the muscles there. She was about to slide her hand further, to drive him crazy, when suddenly she was aware that they were making the wrong turn out of the park where they had been playing baseball. "Hey, my apartment is that way."

"I know." He kept driving, eyes straight ahead. "I thought we'd spend the night over at my place."

"Why?" She was mildly annoyed he hadn't run it by her first. "My place is right across the street from the hospital. I told you I wanted to be there early tomorrow."

"I'll take you whatever time you want to go. I promise." Owen's eyes flickered over to hers. "I just thought maybe we could relax tonight. Away from Callie and Arizona, away from the hospital…" He rested his hand on her own leg. "I just wanted to help you de-stress for a night. With everything at the hospital, I thought you might need it."

"I don't even know where you live." She was a little less on edge now as he spoke, but still hesitant. She'd never been to his apartment before. With her apartment so close in proximity to work, it was natural that they spent the majority of time at her place. "And I don't have anything to wear for bed."

"Well, if you insist on wearing something…" The grin slid across his face, his blue eyes twinkling. "I have a few t-shirts you would look good in. And you always have a toothbrush in your purse, and a brush." He glanced at her. "And I'm not far from the hospital in case we get paged." He paused, considering. "And I don't know if this makes it worthwhile, but my apartment has a Jacuzzi."

Cristina thought about it for a moment. "It might. Maybe." She resumed her exploration of his leg with her hand. "Why did I not know you had a Jacuzzi?" Her hand lightly traced the front of his jeans, her playful tone returning. "And why haven't I been invited over to play in it before now?"

Owen gritted his teeth as her hand swept over him, his voice attempting to stay steady. "You never asked." His hand touched hers briefly as her fingertips brushed him through his jeans, though she wasn't sure if it was if he wanted to stop her or if he simply wanted to press his hand to hers.

"First the baseball thing, now the Jacuzzi…I'm learning all these new things about you today." Cristina continued to tease him with deft fingers and her small, warm hand. "Your shrink would be so proud of you."

He laughed, even though they both knew it probably wasn't something they should joke about. His tone remained light in his response. "What about you? I learned quite a bit about you today."

"What about me?" Cristina scoffed. "I don't share things."

"Sure you did. Your knowledge of Schindler's List, your…lack of passion for peds, your apparent talent for stuffed animal voices…?"

"Who told you about Mr. Bear?" Cristina asked, affronted.

"Arizona." He tried to smother his smile, and failed miserably. "I didn't realize the pin had a name."

"Shut up." Cristina crossed her arms sulkily. She had forgotten all about the disastrous day in peds until he had brought it up. And she certainly hadn't planned on reliving the ordeal of providing a voice for bear pin so soon. "Or no playing in the Jacuzzi."

"Okay, okay. How about your talent for baseball, then?" Owen suggested in a conciliatory tone. "Or the fact that we all learned today that Shepherd and Sloan suck at baseball?"

"They probably just didn't want to mess up their hair," snarked Cristina. "I wouldn't expect anything less of McDreamy and McSteamy."

"What?" Owen laughed. "You have nicknames for them?"

"How long have you been working at this hospital again?" Cristina couldn't help shaking her head. The man had the admirable ability to remove himself from all the gossip at the hospital. Admirable or hopelessly naïve, she wasn't sure, as everyone was eventually sucked into the vortex that was Seattle Grace's gossip machine.

"I'm sorry, if I need a consult, I ask for Shepherd or Sloan, not McDreamy or McSteamy. Or is it the other way around?"

"No, that's right. Then there's Lexipedia, or Three, but she has an issue with that for whatever reason, there's Evil Spawn…"

"Karev?"

Cristina shot him a curious look. "How did you know that?"

"I didn't. I guessed."

"Want to know your nickname?"

"I have a nickname?"

"Several, actually. And it wasn't even me that made them up." Cristina laughed at the bewildered expression on Owen's face.

"No thanks. I think I'm better off not knowing."

"Oh, come on. The ER nurses have this really creative one…"

"That's okay." Owen affirmed. "Besides, I'll take the nickname you have for me any day."

Cristina furrowed her eyebrow. "Since when do we have nicknames? If you're talking about the one time I called you 'honey,' you know that was temporary insanity caused by meeting with the shrink."

"I mean the one you scream out when you…"

"Oh, no you don't." Cristina could feel her cheeks coloring distinctly at the memory of the first few times together with Owen when they had gotten back together a couple of months ago. "We discussed this. It had been a long time. I can't take responsibility for anything I said during those first couple of weeks."

"I can." Owen smirked, pulling the car over and parking in a free spot.

"Don't flatter yourself," muttered Cristina, her face still warm. "And for the record…" She got out of the car, slinging her purse over her shoulder and shutting the door before meeting him at the other side of the car. "If Shepherd or Sloan or any other living, breathing person ever hears about that little nickname, I will personally give recordings to every nurse at Seattle Grace of that sound you make when I go down on you. The one that Callie heard? The one she thought sounded like that one song on the Double Fantasy album…"

"Yeah. I remember." Owen cringed a bit. "I promise. No discussion of nicknames." He escorted her into the building on their right. "Could I tell them you called me 'honey' once?"

"No."

"Just checking." The recently renovated apartment building was bright and spacious inside. Owen led her up the stairs and unlocked the door on the left, allowing her to precede him in entering the apartment. It wasn't too big, but it seemed comfortable enough, with brown leather furniture and warm shades on the wall that made the room seem brighter and larger than it actually was.

There weren't a lot of items in the fairly uncluttered rooms, as it was evident he didn't spend much time there, but the space seemed stamped with his personality. The bookcase was filled with medical journals and textbooks, along with some fiction novels and biographies of historical figures. There were a few empty cans of Guinness on the counter in the kitchen. A treadmill and an assortment of weights resided at the corner of the living room, probably to work off the few cans of Guinness. Papers and files were spread haphazardly over the coffee table in the living room along with a dirty coffee mug that had the red Harvard logo on it and a laptop case.

Two landscape type paintings were on the wall, possibly left there by the previous occupants, as they really didn't seem Owen's style, but there was a small framed photograph on the mantle of Owen's mother, slightly younger, and his father, who Cristina had never met but who looked very much like the man standing beside her now, with blue eyes, auburn hair and an easygoing smile. There was also a slightly tattered photo that showed Owen, a few years younger, beardless and his body somewhat leaner than it was now with who appeared to be fellow soldiers, all of them in army gear and sitting with drinks in their hands and grins on their faces of men who were a little tipsy. Cristina smiled slightly at the photos, at the parents he clearly adored and at the picture of a young, carefree Owen, smiling and surrounded by friends.

A neat stack of boxes were piled in the other corner of the room, some opened that according to the labels were from "overseas" and others "Mom's house," items he had yet to unpack or didn't want to sort through anytime soon. She could see the edges of a framed degree sticking out of the top box, though she couldn't tell from what institution it was from.

Owen took Cristina's jacket and his and hung them up in the closet, along with the duffel bag of baseballs and the bat he had brought in as she absently walked around the apartment, taking in the space. "Did you want anything?" Owen asked, walking into the kitchen. "I have…" He opened the refrigerator, grimacing as he did. "Eggs, vegetables, moldy cheese…" The last item was tossed in the garbage can as he spoke. "Bottled water, Guinness, iced tea, Chinese from…a week ago…" The Chinese followed the cheese into the garbage. "I really need to go grocery shopping," Owen concluded in an apologetic tone.

"I don't need anything." Cristina assured him, and ran her hand over the various medical journals he had accumulated, loosely organized by the different fields of medicine in the bookcase. She pulled out a journal and was scanning the contents as he went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, smirking to herself as she noticed an article about the therapeutic hypothermia used on an athlete in Buffalo a few years back. The very same issue Owen and Derek had argued about when Owen had first arrived in Seattle, all swagger and confidence and completely unwilling to take Derek's answer as the word of God. She replaced the journal haphazardly back into the bookcase and was contemplating taking a more in-depth look at the contents of the boxes in the corner when Owen came back into the living room.

"I'll go run the water for the Jacuzzi and find you a shirt for bed," Owen offered. "The bedroom is through here." He led her into the room, the only furniture being a king-sized bed, a small dresser and a night table by the bed. "Let me go turn on the water." He gestured to the bottom drawer of the dresser. "Shirts are in here. They're clean," he reassured her.

"More than I can say for my clothes at home." Cristina shrugged and went over to the dresser, pawing through his t-shirts while he went into the bathroom. Blue, gray, green, black…he was very limited in his color scheme. She pulled out the one that felt softest to the touch, a black, thin shirt with a faded NY in the corner and tossed it onto the bed.

Casually she began to divest herself of her shirt, ready to sink into the bathtub and soak her day away, when she felt the familiar rough hands aid in stripping her shirt off. Cristina grinned as he nuzzled her neck and tossed her shirt to the floor, as he splayed his hands under her camisole and flat on her abdomen.

"This is the warm up," Owen murmured into her ear, unbuttoning her jeans and hooking them with his thumbs to slide them down her slender legs. "All good players get warm and loose before they start to play. Especially a night game." He pressed a heated kiss to her neck, suckling at her skin hungrily.

There were few things more delicious in life than the feeling of his hands on her skin, sliding her clothes off so sensuously and his body slowly being revealed under her fingertips as she reciprocated in stripping him of his clothes. She tilted her head back to allow him more access to her jaw as they made their way into the bathroom and into the two-person Jacuzzi, Owen's hands and the jets soothing her muscles, already tired from a long day at work and beginning to be sore from playing baseball earlier that evening.

"And what's this?" Cristina breathed into Owen's ear, leaning into his hands as they pressed into her skin.

"Covering the bases." Owen barely lifted his mouth from her shoulder long enough to answer. "Anticipating the play from the other team and…" his hand grazed the skin of her sensitive stomach lightly, "…working the field to the home team's tactical advantage."

Cristina really wasn't sure what he was talking about or if it was actually a baseball term, but as she sat between his legs and felt him nibble her collarbone, she decided she didn't really care overly much. He maneuvered his hands over her body, murmuring descriptions of "squeeze plays" and "lefty-righty switches" and every nerve in her body was humming, and she only heard "unassisted triple play" dimly as her body finally succumbed to the pleasure his fingers were eliciting from her, her toes curling hard into the porcelain of the tub and her back arching over his body.

"I think I'm beginning to like this game," Cristina turned around and coiled her body against his, practically purring as she lay against his broad chest.

"You think it's time to give this game a ride?" Owen's hands settled on her hips. "Because I've always been a fan of doubleheaders." Their lips met in a hot kiss, Cristina's hands now the ones wandering teasingly on his skin.

"You think I could hit a few more home runs by the end of the night?" Her voice was muffled by her lips suckling their day down his chest.

Owen's laugh was deep as he slid his hands downward greedily. "With a little practice, I think we could work a grand slam." Cristina's eyes nearly rolled back in her head as his body ground into hers. "That's the most runs you can score on a single play." He growled as she rolled her hips particularly enticingly against his.

It may have taken some time, and Cristina would never actually sit down and watch or listen to a baseball game, but as she lay sated and utterly blissed out on Owen's bed, clad only in his New York Yankees shirt, she finally understood what all the fuss was about. Baseball could indeed be a _very_ fun game.


End file.
